


Étreindre

by Beguile



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Gen, Hugging, Will is not happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:05:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beguile/pseuds/Beguile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The FBI hires a specialist to handle the emotional fallout from working at the BAU.  Will is not happy.  Crack-fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Étreindre

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TwisttheSinews](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwisttheSinews/gifts).



> Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story are the property of Thomas Harris, Bryan Fuller, and their related affiliates. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only. 
> 
> I dedicate this story to TwisttheSinews, who suggested that the FBI should hire professional huggers and mentioned not having the DVD of Hannibal last week. Apologies – this is rushed, but I simply had to post it the second I finished. TwisttheSinews, I hope you enjoy it.  
> The title is French for ‘hug’.

* * *

 Étreindre

 

          For the first time ever, Alana catches Will high-tailing it out of his classroom with his students instead of after they’ve left.  She negotiates her way through the crowd to his side.  “You have somewhere to be?”  
  
          “Anywhere but here,” Will casts a paranoid glance over his shoulder to the crowd milling behind him.  He shoves his way through the door into the bright sunlight of the outdoors and Alana follows, hot on his heels.

          His movements are even more dizzying today than they usually are.  Will makes a beeline for the stairs and then changes direction at the last minute, nearly barreling into Alana.  Two quick steps and she’s corrected herself on course with his trajectory though.

          “Will, what’s going on?”  
          He’s twitching furiously.  “I’m avoiding someone.”

          “Jack?”

          “No,” Will heads into a thick rumble of students.  “Worse.”

          Alana braves the tempest for his sake.  “Let’s go to my office.”

          “I’m going home.”

          “Great, I’ll drive you.”  She doesn’t want him behind the wheel of a car in this state. 

          “No,” he thinks about it. “Actually, wait: that would be a perfect diversion.  Yes.”

          “Who are you running from?”

          “The FBI is concerned about the emotional well-being of BAU employees.  Apparently we have trouble opening up to people and forging lasting relationships.”

          “Apparently,” Alana agrees. 

          “They’ve hired a team of...specialists.”

          “Psychiatrists.”

          “If only,” Will grumbles.  He stops short, turns on a heel, and heads off in the opposite direction.

          Alana stares in the same direction he was looking, but it’s impossible to pick someone out of the crowd.  She has no choice except force herself back towards Will. 

          “What other specialists would they have hired?” she asks hurriedly, breathless from dodging cadets. 

          “Physical Contact Coordinators.”

          “What?”

          “Professional-”

          He’s interrupted by a petite brunette male rushing him from the side.  Will draws his messenger bag towards his chest and uses it as a battering ram, charging through a crowd of trainees to his left.  “You’ll never take me alive!” he declares. 

          “There’s no reason to make this difficult, Mr. Graham!” the brunette calls after him.  

          Alana can’t place his profession based on his clothing, but she knows he isn’t a psychiatrist.  “Who are you?” she demands.  The man hands her a business card and stalks off after Will.

          Daniel Hawthorne – Physical Contact Coordinator.  Alana pockets the useless business card and follows after him.

          She can see Will over the crowd and traces his steps through the throngs of students.  He’s almost at the parking lot, but then another well-dressed coordinator flanks him from between the cars.  He whirls around and takes off again, but is stopped almost immediately by another specialist.  They’re emerging from all directions now, surrounding him.  Alana’s struck with _Night of the Living Dead_ flashbacks when they finally form a neat circle and huddle in tightly around him. 

          “HEY!” now Alana’s concerned.  She figured Will was just avoiding some kind of brief meeting, not getting attacked in a public space.  “HEY!  Get away from...”

          She tugs the short brunette – Daniel, was it? - out of the way but stops just shy of getting to Will.  The shock of what she finds in the huddle is too much for her to handle. 

          Will is on his tip toes in a mad attempt to get as far away from the ground as possible.  Unfortunately, he’s tethered by more than just gravity.  A middle-aged blonde woman has him in her embrace, and she’s administering the mother of all hugs to Will Graham. 

          Alana shifts her weight away from the situation.  For a moment, she feels awful for interrupting: the scene is just so _intimate_.  That woman is putting her whole soul into her hug.  But then Alana remembers how terrified Will was, still is, _will always be_ and opens her mouth to protest.

          “Relax, Doctor,” another coordinator says, “We’re professionals.”

          “Professional huggers?” Alana is stunned back into action.  “Get off of him.  Now, please: get off of him.”

          “Thirty more seconds.”

          Will looks like he’s going to vomit, pass out, kill someone, or all three in the same action.  “No,” Alana says, “Get off of him right now.”

          “Twenty seconds.”

          “No!” she marches forward.  The petit brunette from before stays her hand before she can save Will.  He hands her a very official looking document.  “What is this?”

          “The contract requisitioning us to embrace Will Graham.”

          “You are kidding,” she tears open the document and gives it a very quick read: _Physical Contact Coordinators...embrace Special Agent Will Graham for a duration of one minute (60 seconds)...signed, Jack Crawford and a Deputy Director._   “Oh, my God, you’re really not.”

          “Ten more seconds.”

          Daniel takes his contract back.  Alana stares at Will sympathetically.  He has his eyes shut tight and is failing to find a happy mental space.  She’s seen similar expressions on burn victims faces when their dressings are being changed.  “Almost done, Will,” she sighs.

          Time slows to a crawl though.  Those last seconds feel longer than decades, and by about the eight second mark, Will’s tolerance has burst wide open from the pressure.  He clenches his teeth, gives the woman on his chest a small pat on the back for her efforts, and gives in just enough that he’s not clawing at the stratosphere any longer.  Alana not sure if he’s succumbed now that the thrill of the chase has passed or the power of the hug has started to sink in.  She chalks it up to a perfect mix of the two and sighs even more sympathetically than before. 

          After what feels like an eternity, Will is released.  He stands stalk still as the woman thanks him and walks away.  Her entourage follows in a tight pack. 

          The petit brunette tilts an invisible hat in Will’s direction as he walks past.  “We’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Graham.”

          Will’s face drops, “Oh, come on!”

* * *

Happy reading!

 


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